Page 11 of The Irish Gypsy

Patrick was away eight months before he returned to England, and before he left Liverpool he sunk more money into another merchant vessel that he would fill with exports and sell at handsome profits. By the time he arrived in London, Julia had produced her first child and was determined not to have any more for a while. Barbara was beside herself with joy at the sight of her brother and asked to go home to Bolton with him. The cotton from Bagatelle would have arrived by now anyway, and he was anxious to see the quality of the goods it would produce.

Back in Bolton, his lawyer told him of two new low offers on the Falcon and advised Patrick not to sell. Determined to find out what was wrong at the Falcon, he decided to have a talk with his manager and go over the books. When Patrick got there he called a meeting of the manager, the foreman and the overseers and asked for their reports. Production was down, there was discord between the workers and the bosses, and Patrick wanted answers. At first they seemed to walk on eggs with him; finally someone with guts spoke up.

"Well, I'll call a spade a spade, if none of the rest of you will! We've had some accidents recently and the place has a bad reputation. It's been nicknamed 'Cripples Factory', if you want to know the truth."

Patrick listened intently.

"You mean the machines are old and unsafe?"

They all nodded grimly. Patrick knew he was guilty of the things he had accused his father of. He had put back no money into improvements since he had taken over almost two years ago. Commerce without morality was a deadly sin and it would have to be corrected without delay.

Kitty had had no breakfast that morning. She set her machines in motion automatically. She was lightheaded, but it was a feeling that always seemed to be with her. Her face had taken on a resigned look and she feared that the mill would prove to be a lifetime sentence with no escape. It all happened in an instant. She squeezed past a machine facing it, rather than putting her back toward it. The great leather belt caught hold of her overall and flung her up into the air, with the material catching on the great cog wheel. She screamed wildly. The fact that the cotton dress had been washed so many times saved her life. The thin, almost rotten overall ripped clean down the front and her limp, unconscious body fell to the oily floor. The accident siren sounded and the hair on the nape of Patrick's neck stood on end. He ran from the office toward the spinning room where the commotion was coming from. He elbowed his way through the crowd of girls and looked down at the crumpled figure that seemed too small to be a human being. It was a minute before recognition hit him.

"Kitty, my God!"

The impact was like a blow to his solar plexus. The room was so hot and humid he could hardly breathe and sweat broke out on his face. He looked down at the stripped cotton dress and suddenly to his horror he was back on the plantation and Kitty was just as much a cotton slave as those black people had been. He picked her up tenderly and carried her to the office.

"I'll run for the doctor, Mr. O'Reilly. Lay her down here,"

the foreman said.

"No, no. I'd rather you drove me home. I don't want a doctor from around here."

He was alarmed at her waxen pallor. He quickly lifted her, took her to the carriage and gently laid her against the squabs, keeping hold of her hands and chafing them clumsily. Kitty regained consciousness twice in the carriage, but her eyes only flickered open momentarily without focusing, then closed again as she lapsed back into unconsciousness.

He flung open the front door and called.

"Barbara, Mrs. Thomson, come quickly."

"What is it? Oh, Patrick, you've found her!"

cried Barbara.

"She's hurt badly, I fear. Mrs. Thomson, is Julia's room made up?"

"Of course, sir. Where did you find the poor little lamb?"

He was white, his mouth a grim line, and his eyes terrible to behold.

"I found her working at the mill. There was an accident. I've no idea how badly she's hurt. Stay with her while I get the doctor. I hate to leave her, but that's the fastest way to get help. Pull back the covers, Barbara. Keep her warm and don't leave her for a second."

He was back within fifteen minutes. The doctor said.

"Help me disrobe her so I can see how much damage she's sustained."

"No! Barbara, help Mrs. Thomson undress her, and for God's sake be gentle."

He looked apologetically at the doctor and said.

"She's frightened of men."

"Indeed?"

he said dryly.

"Then I will ask you to leave the room until I complete my examination."

Reluctantly, Patrick left and closed the door behind him, but stood on the landing outside the door in a state of miserable anxiety. Twenty minutes later, the doctor came out.

"She's been in an industrial accident at your mill, hasn't she?"

"How did you know?"

"Good God, man, I haven't always been a society doctor. I started out in the slums. Her color gives her away, like a prison pallor."

"What's the extent of her injuries?"

he asked apprehensively.

"Well, she's in shock. She has a concussion, a dislocated shoulder, a large gash on her leg that I've just stitched, and multiple bruises, cuts and abrasions. Apart from all this, she is in a weakened, run-down condition and her blood is very low. She's seen more dinnertimes than dinners, and the work she's been doing has been far too heavy for her. It sounds grave, but all she really needs is food and rest. I think the concussion will go away on its own if she's left quiet, but I'd like you to come and hold her while I try to put her shoulder back into its socket. Would you ladies step outside now for a few minutes?"

the doctor asked.

Patrick lifted Kitty gently and put his arms about her firmly. The doctor took hold of Kitty's arm.

"This will hurt her a great deal."

He gave her arm a terrific wrench, and her eyes flew open and she screamed. "Patrick,"

she said weakly.

"where am I?"

"You had an accident at the mill, love, but the doctor says you'll be all right. Try to sleep now. We'll look after you."

"I'll ease the shoulder with a sling and be back to check her again tomorrow."

The doctor hadn't been gone ten minutes, when Terrance appeared and demanded to see his sister.

"The doctor tells me she is going to be all right, Terry, but she needs nursing and decent food, and I intend to see that she gets it. Where have you been living? Why on earth was she working in the mill?"

"Haven't you seen the bloody signs posted, 'No Irish or Dogs allowed'?"

he asked bitterly.

"Go home and get your things together. I know Kitty wouldn't have a minute's peace of mind if you were still at the mill after this accident."

With the good food and bed rest she received, Kitty's condition improved rapidly. Barbara was delighted because she had few friends her own age; she insisted upon doing everything for Kitty. A great relief filled Patrick as he watched Kitty blossom under their ministrations, and his guilt fell away. He was determined that this time he would not make such a mess of things. He would go about his wooing slowly and patiently. He forced himself to attend to business each day and only allowed himself half an hour each evening with Kitty.

It was beginning to work. Already she looked forward eagerly to his arrival, and he took much pleasure watching her face light up at the sight of him. He kept a great deal of distance between them, at least half the room, and let his eyes convey his tender feelings toward her. He sent her flowers every other day and set about the courtship with a master plan, paying attention to the minutest details, and slowly but surely Kitty began to respond. Never once did the idea of marrying her enter his head.

One day he took Terry into the library.

"Would you like to become a mill foreman, Terry?"

he asked tentatively.

"I hated every minute I had to spend in that place. Besides, nobody is going to take orders from someone who hasn't turned sixteen yet."

"You need more education, you know. How would you like to go to school?"

"School? Me? Don't be daft! That's out for certain sure."

"Talk about gratitude and biting the hand that feeds you! Stubborn bloody Irish! I knew a lad who came here from Ireland and joined the British army just so he could become a deserter!"

Patrick shouted.

They both burst out laughing, and Patrick shook his head in resignation.

"I fancy horses,"

Terry stated without hesitation.

Patrick leaned back in his chair and thought for a few minutes.

"I'm going to give it out that you and Kitty are distant cousins of ours from Ireland, so I can't have you working as a stable boy. I'll tell you what: I have a friend with a large racing stable over at Doncaster in Yorkshire. Would you like to learn to be a trainer? I have more than a passing interest in horses myself. Learn everything you can. When you return we'll see what we can do about acquiring some decent horseflesh and enter a few races ourselves."

Terry's face lit up brilliantly.

"Your smile is exactly like your sister's when she's getting all her own way,"

he said and laughed.

Patrick came home one day to find that Kitty had been downstairs for the first time. Her figure was rounding out again and her hair was a mass of shiny curls, prettier than it had ever been because of her improved diet.

"You're looking very well, but you still tire easily, don't you?"

"A little,"

she admitted shyly.

"I think you should be carried up to bed, don't you?"

he asked softly.

She hesitated a moment, blushed prettily and nodded her agreement.

"Terry, come carry your sister up to bed. I think she's done enough for today."

Patrick hid a smile as a look of disappointment came into her face.

Soon the girls were riding every day and the large house was filled with their happy laughter and madcap antics. One afternoon he returned early from business and discovered both girls filthy, wet, their dresses torn, their shoes and stockings forgotten on the riverbank where they'd been wading.

"You've been running around like two Gypsy girls all summer. Not that it probably hasn't done you a world of good, but I really think school is in order."

"Oh Patrick, no, I hate lessons!"

protested Barbara.

"What you need are different kinds of lessons, like dancing and singing and all those female accomplishments that turn hoydens into civilized young ladies. Six months is all I'm asking--I won't separate you, you can be together."

The girls eyed each other and then nodded agreement.

"If you insist,"

Barbara said.

"we'll go to the same academy for young ladies that Julia went to, and then you must promise to take us to London so we can meet some young men and begin to enjoy life!"

Kitty hid a smile at the anger that distorted Patrick's features at the mention of young men.

"I want both of you to be on your best behavior tonight. We're having some very important guests for dinner. Mr. Haynsworth, who owns the oldest bleaching firm in England, is trying to interest me in some new scheme. It's strictly business, but you've driven past their place at Rose Bank and you know how posh they live, so for God's sake don't disgrace me."

They raced upstairs and pulled every article of clothing from Julia's wardrobe and clothespress that she had left behind. They spread them over the bed and Kitty made her choice easily. It was a gown of red velvet, low in the neck, very full in the skirt. She would have to nip in the waist and take up the hem, but it would be worth the effort. They went through Barbara's clothes, but she rejected everything.

"This pink is so childish, and pale blue is insipid, don't you think? You've no idea how wealthy the Haynsworths are. I think there's a son and a daughter, and I don't want to look like a schoolgirl in front of them,"

she lamented.

"Well, let's look at Julia's things again,"

Kitty suggested.

Barbara decided on an antique-gold taffeta that rustled deliciously and agreed that they would keep out of Patrick's sight until the last minute in case he decided they were dressed too boldly for their age and ordered them to change. When the girls finally came downstairs, Kitty knew she looked well because Patrick couldn't keep his eyes from her. Her lips and breasts invited a man's mouth, her curls were too much of a temptation to leave untouched and she had such a saucy, knowing look in her eyes tonight.

When the guests arrived, Kitty was surprised at how much Samuel Haynsworth reminded her of Jonathan O'Reilly. He had thick gray side whiskers and the same thick-set body. He was another self-made man, of which Lancashire boasted so many, and his speech and mannerisms were almost identical to Jonathan O'Reilly's.

The son was another type completely. He was a slim blond with lazy-lidded eyes which gleamed with unconcealed lust when he beheld Kitty. Patrick regretted the table arrangements that seated Keith Haynsworth next to Kitty, but it was too late to change them. He introduced his sister Barbara, then quickly passed Kitty off as 'our cousin Kathleen'.

Patrick hardly paid attention when he was introduced to Grace Haynsworth, a colorless young creature who could only be described as plain. Patrick was hard pressed to pay attention to what Samuel Haynsworth was talking about, for every time he looked down the table toward Kitty, Keith Haynsworth was whispering to her. First she would look shocked, the next time he looked she would be blushing and then damn, blast and set fire to it all, she would be laughing up at him. Once again Patrick turned his attention to the older man, only to be distracted by Barbara's giggling. He looked up to see Keith Haynsworth bring his hand from under the table. The moment he did so, Kitty gave his hand such a vicious jab with her table fork it drew blood, and Keith had to cover it quickly with his napkin. It looked like Kitty could take care of herself, but her table manners were appalling.

Patrick turned to Grace Haynsworth on his left, and the contrast between the young women struck him forcibly. She wore a simple white gown and her halo of golden hair made her look innocent and virginal. She was quiet and poised and showed breeding in every line. Patrick thought she was the kind of young girl a man should choose for his wife. She'd make the perfect mother for a man's children. Even though her face was plain, it was sweet and serene, and Patrick thought she'd probably be complacent also, as he couldn't imagine her making a scene.

"Would you ladies like to leave us to our port now, so we can get down to business?"

Samuel Haynsworth asked bluntly.

Patrick noted the rebellious looks but was pleased to see how graciously their guest arose and excused herself. Grace had been named well.

Keith stood up from the table and said.

"I'll entertain the ladies while you discuss your business."

Patrick was damned if he was going to allow him free rein with Kitty. He put a viselike grip on the young man's shoulder and said.

"Sit down. You won't want to miss this excellent new port. It's from my own vineyards in France,"

he lied smoothly, then turned to face the older man.

"Well, Patrick, I've been toying with the idea of a model mill. Modern, streamlined, the very latest machinery. A really large place capable of employing about a thousand people."

"I think that's a marvelous idea, but it would take a lot of planning and a lot of money,"

Patrick said, showing immediate interest.

"Well, of course I wouldn't attempt something of this scale on my own. I'd have to get a few partners."

"Our mills employ only about a hundred or so. What about housing the employees?"

"We could build a model village close to the mill with an institute for the workpeople and suchlike."

"I see you've been giving it a lot of thought. You'd need a large tract of land to begin with."

"That's the one thing I've got plenty of. I own all the land at Rose Bank and half of Barrow Bridge."

"Who besides myself were you thinking of approaching?"

"Well, I had thought of Gardiner."

"Good choice. How about Bazley?"

Patrick suggested.

"Of course! I knew you'd have some good ideas."

"Would you object to London backing?"

"Of course not. What do you have in mind?"

"Well, I'd suggest we get plans drawn up and publish some drawings in the Illustrated London News. Might even get someone in the House interested: they're forever on about improving the workingman's condition in industry. Now's their chance to do something constructive about it."

"You'd have to handle the London end of things."

"No problem there; just tell me when you're ready."

"Well, hold on a bit. All I really wanted was your ideas on the feasibility of the plan. I'll kick it about for a while and get back to you."

After the guests had left, Patrick said.

"I was subjected to an appalling display of bad table manners tonight. I think you will both benefit from six months at school. If you'd taken the time and trouble, and if you had an ounce of common sense between the two of you, you could have behaved like Grace Haynsworth tonight."

"Colorless!"

pronounced Barbara, defiantly.

"Whey-faced!"

said Kitty jealously.

"As a matter of fact, you both looked rather vulgar beside her,"

Patrick said, and left them both with their mouths open.